I was in Asda today. As I tried to negotiate my way through the crowds whilst maintaining an air of calm maturity, I heard a random woman behind me in the Christmas baubles aisle say quietly: "I think I'm losing the will to live." I had a brief but overwhelming urge to shout FIGHT!, and watch the ensuing carnage as the repressed rage of the shopping masses exploded in an enormous rugby scrum of a brawl on Asda's shop floor. Believe me, we were that close. I saw numerous incidents of trolley rage as I charged round at breakneck speed to pick up a few groceries. Let me rephrase that. I caused numerous incidents of trolley rage...etcetera. It was all me me me. I'm not proud.
I had to go back in to get one of those Christmas trees in netting and already in a bucket. You have no idea what that thing will look like until you release it from its captivity. A group of bemused shoppers watched me as I lifted out several trees to select one that (a) wasn't squint and (b) had more than four branches. I chose the best of the bunch. Forty-five minutes later, I lobbed that mother into the back of the car. When I got home, I discovered under the netting a sad little runt of a tree: stunted, squint and bald. Season's Felicitations.
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